The figure reached for the flaps, and as he did so I rushed forwards. He heard me coming and started to turn, but I was on him before he could do so, dragging him to his feet, reaching one hand around his torso and clamping it across his mouth, while with the other I brought my blade up towards his throat. The steel gleamed softly in the starlight.
He struggled and tried to cry out, but I was by far the stronger and I held firm, wrenching his head back so that the flat of my blade rested against his skin.
‘Make a sound and I will slit your throat,’ I said.
He couldn’t have been much more than a child, and a scrawny one at that, slight of build and half starved too, I didn’t wonder. A thief, most probably, or else one of the beggars we had passed by the bridge. Either way he had some nerve if he thought to try to steal from men like us.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘What are you doing here?’
His breath came in stutters as he shuddered, too afraid to answer, and then those shudders turned to tears as he began to sob.
‘Stop crying, boy.’ If he thought he was going to get any sympathy from me, then he was sorely mistaken. ‘Speak.’
‘Don’t k-kill me, lord, p-please.’
I froze in surprise. That was a girl’s voice. I lowered my knife and spun the child around, and as I did so her hood fell from her head and I saw her face. She was the young maidservant who had been with Beatrice earlier, her brown hair shining in the faint light.
‘P-please, lord,’ she said, her face streaming with tears, not daring to meet my eyes.
‘Why are you here?’
But she was sobbing so much that she did not answer. Still in shock, I didn’t doubt. We could not stay here, or someone would soon hear us. With my free hand I grabbed her wrist as I made for the river glittering under the stars. She did not resist, but let me pull her along, until I thought we’d put enough distance between ourselves and the camp that we could talk freely, without having to lower our voices.
‘I’m sorry, lord,’ she said as soon as we had stopped. ‘I didn’t know which one was yours. I didn’t mean to-’
The words came tumbling out and I raised my hand to quiet her. ‘It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?’
She bowed her head. ‘Papia.’
‘You’re one of Lady Beatrice’s maidservants.’
She nodded, still trembling, although at least her tears had ceased flowing now.
‘Do you know who I am?’ I asked.
‘Tancred a Dinant,’ she said, and I saw a lump form in her throat as she swallowed. ‘Seigneur of Earnford and once knight of the Earl of Northumbria, Robert de Commines, may God rest his soul.’
Clearly she knew my face; she must have recognised me from earlier. But my fame was not so widespread that every serving-girl would naturally have heard that I had once served Robert de Commines.
‘Did Lady Beatrice send you?’
Again the girl nodded. ‘She would meet with you tonight, if you wish to see her.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Even as I speak she is waiting for you at the church of St Ealhmund.’
That she would send for me so soon seemed more than a little strange. Even as my heart stirred, suspicions were already forming in my mind. How could I know that this wasn’t some kind of trick?
‘Is she alone?’ I asked Papia.
‘She is alone, lord.’
Of course it was a pointless question, and that was no answer at all, for it was exactly what she would tell me if this were indeed a ruse designed to trap me.
‘We must go now if at all, lord,’ the girl said. ‘The longer my lady is out, the greater the risk she takes that someone will find her missing.’
I closed my eyes and offered a silent prayer for guidance, but none was forthcoming. The decision was mine to make, and God would not try to sway me.
‘All right,’ I said. ‘Wait here while I fetch my cloak.’
It was not especially cold out, but I could hardly go to meet Beatrice in clothes that were covered in dust from the road, and I had brought no better tunic to wear instead.
I returned to my tent, found the sheath for my knife and buckled my copper-bound scabbard on my waist. I did not know Scrobbesburh, but all towns were dangerous places by night and I wanted to be ready for whatever danger might be lurking. Besides, I felt naked if I went anywhere without some manner of blade with which to defend myself. I lived by the sword, someone had told me once: probably the truest words I had ever heard.
After putting on my boots and my cloak I slipped away again, down to the spot by the river where I’d left Papia. At first I thought she had gone, but then I found her sitting on the ground, her back resting against the trunk of a birch. She stood up as I approached, brushing grass and dirt from her cloak. Her tears had dried and her composure had returned.
‘Come on,’ I told her. ‘Show me the way.’
We headed up the rise towards the maze of shadows and narrow streets, of squat timber houses and long merchants’ halls that made up Scrobbesburh. The only sound I could discern was of men laughing and shouting drunkenly on the other side of town, probably out enjoying the many pleasures of the night.
A dark alleyway branched off from the main thoroughfare, and Papia led me down it. Some of those voices were nearer now, and I heard English words as well as French. Dogs were barking and infants, woken by the noise, began to wail. I wondered what the commotion was about. The girl did not stop, though, but hurried onwards, bunching her skirts in her hands, raising them so that they did not trail in the mud and the clods of cattle dung that littered the street. We turned a corner and then I saw the church. Its stone belfry rose before me, so tall that from the top it must be possible to see for miles in every direction.
‘Lady Beatrice is waiting inside,’ Papia said as we reached the door by the nave. ‘I will keep watch here in case anyone comes.’
I nodded but could not speak as I stared at the door: the only thing now keeping me from Beatrice. I felt a lurch in my stomach, of sickness mixed with anticipation. Taking a deep breath, trying to still my beating heart, I grasped the ring that served as a handle, curling my fingers around the twisted rods of cold iron, turning it until I felt the catch lift.
I pushed. The door opened easily, without so much as a murmur, and before I could think twice, I stepped inside.
Seven
She knelt in front of the altar, her hood drawn back. A small lantern rested on the flagstones beside her, its light falling upon her hair, which shone like spun gold. I pushed the door to behind me, and at the sound of the catch falling into place she glanced over her shoulder. Seeing me, she got hurriedly to her feet, as if startled, nearly knocking over her lantern as she did so.
‘Beatrice,’ I said.
‘I thought you might not come.’
To tell the truth it was not quite the greeting I had been expecting. My footsteps sounded loudly upon the floor-tiles as I crossed the nave towards her. Every heartbeat felt like an eternity.
‘You sent for me and so here I am, my lady,’ I replied in just as neutral a tone. The blood was pounding in my head, making it hard to think properly. Even now I wasn’t entirely sure why I was here. I stopped a few paces short of her. ‘Are we safe?’
I glanced about at the painted stone pillars and the arches between them, searching in the shadows of the side aisle flanking the nave for signs of movement. A narrow gallery ran along one wall, where it would be all to easy to hide. Probably I was being over-anxious, but a part of me still wondered whether this was a snare and I was the unwitting victim who had fallen into it. Even were that not the case, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched.